Ah, Monday and Daylight Savings Time. That's the fun morning. No longer is the sun peeking out, filling the world with that light, that Hour of the Pearl light.
No.
It's dark, and feels like it's freaking 4:30 am when the alarm goes off.
Because it is. The clock may say 5:30, but it's lying. And it doesn't even feel bad about it. Just displays its numbers and pretends, and expects you to pretend as well.
Usually, at this moment, I'd be out with Lisa strolling the neighborhood. But that was an hour ago, and here I am in front of my old computer, eyes feeling a little baggier than normal, on an extra cup of coffee, considering what there is to say.
Well, there are a few things, as usual. I find if I just get my butt in a seat, and start writing, things do pop up. And the less expectations I have, the better the writing. Form and function and all that comes later anyway, so there.
We went to a ballet of Wizard of Oz recently. It was pretty great, but there were a few things story-wise that puzzled me. Having just directed a stage version of Oz, I was quite familiar with each scene, as both the stage version and this ballet based the plot on the 1939 movie. And there was one moment that the ballet glossed over.
A key moment.
When Toto gets taken away by Miss Gulch.
This has to be tragic and real and horrible. No two ways about it. I realized this while directing the show. Dorothy has to have Toto, her dog and best friend, literally taken out of her hands and given to a woman who has made it very clear that she is going to kill that dog.
That's an awful moment of betrayal and sorrow for Dorothy.
It also happens to be key to the entire story, The inciting incident that sets her on her journey. Yes, a twister picks her up and carries her off to Oz, but it's the moment of betrayal that sets it all in motion. Dorothy has to run away from home, meet Professor Marvel, realize she needs to get home, and then get torn away by powers beyond her ability to contain, and then spend the rest of the story trying as hard as she can to get home, even though she is finally over the rainbow.
Maybe this isn't a huge revelation to most people. But for me, it was important. The idea of that moment in the story where we the audience buy in, when we invest our hopes and fears into the main character.
And in that story, it's Dorothy, alone against the world, pleading with her friends and family to not lead her little dog be taken away to certain doom. If that scene isn't heart wrenching and terrible, who really cares what happens after that? Then, it's just a story about a kid in a magic land who could just tap her shoes three times and go home.
She wouldn't have to learn a damn thing.
In the ballet, the whole moment is glossed over, and it's not really clear that Gulch will kill the dog or that the adults in Dorothy's life bending their knees to Gulch and her demands.
As I chewed on this idea yesterday, I started going over all my stories and scripts, especially those on the front burner, and all these possibilities presented themselves.
Writing can be maddening, frustrating, and horrible, while at the same time filling you with a sense of purpose and wonder.
Having a little revelation after going to the ballet is one of life's rare joys.
Here's a song. It's Happy Phantom by Tori Amos.
